Where is My Mind?
by TheRemainsofTheDay
Summary: A series. Drabble Two: Roy-centric. "Sometimes he holds the scalding, coffee mug just a little too long. Not enough to blister or peel, just a lingering red, tingle across his palm."
1. Convenient

Fullmetal Alchemist

Drabble One

Convenience

The room was dusty, and he had to do it. Honestly, the bedroom was out of hand from the two years of suspended animation that it had endured. Edward coughed and his eyes watered; really wishing that he left the window opened a crack.

But he would never keep his window open. Skin still so sensitive, that a night draft would cause uncontrollable shakes and bone aches. A luke-warm breeze would scorch his senses, even leaving chaffed skin and darken hairs standing straight up on his arms.

So Edward never open the window.

Kept everything the same. The books were left by the bed in stacks; one opened to a dog eared page, another face down and awkwardly bent. Deformed among the brown blanket and sheets in a heap on the ground. Bent, like the horizon right before a sunset in Risenbul when the sun almost touches the ground, and it seems the earth is warping out to meet it. The pages were twisted like his stomach, when he first walked into the room.

His fingers brushed against the cover, as he squatted to floor level. Dust scattered, and the fingers left a trail. The title was set in engraved, golden italics, and was followed by an unpronounceable, scholarly name. Edward's noise scrunched, as he turned the alchemy book over, the bookmark fluttering down hitting the ground silently brushing his boot.

And so gently. Not leaving a trace of it's own disastrous fall. A death so convenient for everybody around it. So much like Al, Edward thought. To even die so gently.

But that was the moment it really hit him.

The loneliness that had been fended off for so long, hit him. Hard. The finality of death. Edward got that he was dead. Understood death. Knew death. It didn't make a difference. He supposed a part of him was denying it had happened at all until this point.

Picking up the bookmark, his eyes watered. He was probably touching one of the last item his brother ever used.

And it wasn't a sentimental photo of the family; no mother's face smiling with their father's face folded out. Nor was it a revealing letter confessing a beautiful secret.

It was a grocery list. He smiled; a waiting man in a waiting room. Touching the yellowing paper against his nose, maybe hoping to smell the moment, and took in a deep breath.

"You motherfucker." The list contained the usually the brothers shared when Al go his body back. It was just at the end, in over-sized, capital letters, underlined three times, was MILK.

It wasn't funny. But he laughed all the same. Nor meaningful in anyway. But he spent a night grieving over the prospect of milk.

* * *

><p>SO just going to do some drabbles here and there. Stuff not long enough to be full developed stories, But ideas I still want to get out there.<p>

Any requests? I'm up for almost anything. :)

Review, so one day I can be a great writer.


	2. Scald

Scald

Drabble 2: Part One

Sometimes he holds the scalding, coffee mug just a little too long. Not enough to blister or peel, just a lingering red, tingle across his palm. It's no big deal though, cause it's just an individual act of self-violence; not reaching into the entirety of his life. An embarrassing secret, really. Couldn't even compare to the words he dares whisper to himself in the darkest corners of his mind. Well, originally that's what it was to Roy Mustang. But like everything else pushed behind his façade of oversexed asshole, it seeped through any chance it received. And than it happened.

Here and there, more and more, little tidbits were incorporated into his daily rituals.

First it was the sink.

The sink didn't last very long for much like the mug, he just couldn't feel it. Years of accidentally backfires left his hands calloused, and his nerve endings burnt till gone. Much too public as well. He didn't need Hawkeye criticizing his carelessness again.

"Boss, can't you feel that?" The sinks line up, chiming in a synchronized drip.

_No, Havoc. And that's too bad._

And than the shower.

But that left him with a rash resembling a contagious flu. Not appropriate when your trying to get work done.

Most recently the bath.

It was easy; all he had to do was just turn the knob a little too much. More capital "H" than capital "C". Just seemed like an accident. _Oh, silly me, you have to pay more attention_, than he smile his dirty little secret.

**End of Part One. **

**Please put up your opinion.**


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